The Rapier: A Fine Tension
by ChelleyBean
Summary: *Complete from this POV* Hermione finds an unusual partner with whom to share an unusual hobby.
1. Chapter One

_Dear Readers,_

_This is just a little something I pictured.  I'm not even truly sure where it came from, but I liked it.  I've been kicking around the idea of taking up fencing for about a year now, but have never had the extra money to afford it (it's not the cheapest of pastimes).  I'm not sure why I connected it to these two characters in particular, but it seemed to fit in its own, off-the-wall way.  I plan for there to be two versions, one from Hermione's perspective and one through the eyes of Severus.  I hope you enjoy them._

_As usual, I don't own anything, except perhaps the plot.  J.K. Rowling still holds my admiration for her ideas and characters, and I pray that she continues to dazzle us with them.  Let us all send out our congratulations on her current pregnancy and wish her a problem-free time followed by an easy birthing.  _

_Also, let's hope I can yet again avoid any dunderheads out there who might think to sue me.  Trust me; if I can't scrape up a little extra money each month to learn fencing, I haven't anything worth value for you to take from me.  It's just a story, a flight of fancy, and isn't meant to do anyone any harm._

_Love,_

_ChelleyBean_

**_The Rapier_**

****

_A Fine Tension_

She had been thrilled when she had stumbled across this room.  Of course there were several different chambers within the castle that held various weapons and armors, but this was the only one where she had found the weapons of her choice.  No weighty broadswords or maces, no clubs that had been kept as trophies after defeating trolls.  These were more elegant weapons, more civilized.  They lay in velvet lined cases with glass covers, the silver of their metal gleaming brightly in the flickering light of a hearth that lit itself whenever someone entered the room.  The light and flexible foils, the slightly heavier and stiffer epees and the weightier, razor sharp sabers, all resting there as if waiting for someone to find them.

And find them she had, a few days before when an annoyingly playful staircase had shifted on her and forced her to take a detour.  She had been looking for a new pathway to Charms class when she had stumbled across the room, hoping the door would lead to another hallway.  She had stood there, enraptured at the sight of so many blades, captivated by the way they had been displayed with such loving care.  No uniforms were present, but she had never truly bothered with them anyway.  She would have lingered, but time had been swiftly leaving her and she had been forced to settle for a silent promise to return.  Committing the location of the room to memory, and praying that it wouldn't be one with a habit of changing locations, she hurried off to eventually find her way to her classroom.

She had wanted to return that night, but could not shake free from the boys.  It would have been easy to just tell them that she wanted to be on her own, but they would have wanted to know why, and then they would have wanted to follow.  It wasn't as if it was some shameful secret, but it wasn't something that she wanted to share with a person who couldn't understand.  Though she never considered herself to be an athlete, she did have this one skill, taken on in an act of love towards her grandfather when she had been only eight years of age.  None of the grandsons had been interested in providing him with a sparring partner, and she hated to see him left alone.  She had taken up her first foil to make him smile and had quickly fallen in love with the graceful movements of fencing and its demands on the body.  In her most stressful times, she had been able to work out her tensions and frustrations with whatever challenge had been thrown her way by replacing them with the fine tension the weight of a blade brought to her shoulders and back.  Sparring kept her senses focused and sharp, watching for any indication of what her grandfather's next move was going to be.  It wasn't the typical thing to bring about warm memories of loving family members, but it always worked for her.

So she waited until Friday evening, then the boys would be too busy being… well… boys, to care if she went off on her own.  They would just assume she had gone off to the library, taking advantage of the later hours, and grimace at the thought of "wasting" a perfectly good Friday night on something as boring as studying.  Braiding her hair tightly against her head to fall in a heavy tail down her back, she donned the pair of black leggings and the good quality sports bra she had ordered the day after finding the room, the stirrups of the leggings wrapping under her heel.  The Rapier Room, as she had dubbed it in her mind, had a plush carpet of deep claret, so she knew she would be able to go without shoes and not suffer for it.  Throwing her robes over her, she shouldered her book satchel and hurried down the steps to the common room.  Harry and Ron looked up from their chess game, took one look at the heavy book bag, and rolled their eyes.  No questions asked.

It was late in the fall and the sun had gone down almost an hour ago.  Still, curfew wasn't for another five hours for the sixth and seventh years, as they were given some extra time on the weekends.  There was little danger of her encountering anyone on the higher floors where she was going.  Most of them would be in their house common rooms, the library or in the Great Hall.  She encountered no one during her journey and soon found herself at the door.  She rested her hand on the handle and took a deep breath, praying that it was still there and not replaced by some storage closet.  With a firm tug, she pulled open the door and stepped inside.

Off to her right, the great hearth roared to life while sconces on the walls ignited.  Flickering firelight danced off the bright silver that was secured in the display cases along the walls.  It was like looking upon the mythical treasure of some great dragon as they were depicted in Muggle fantasy. A smile touched her lips as she was once again enraptured by the sight of the gleaming blades.  Stepping further into the room, she surveyed her choices.  Her grandfather had become ill over the past couple of years and no longer had the strength to spar with her during the summer holidays and she had no blade of her own here.  Though she felt confident that she remembered every move and stance, she knew that her muscles would have lost most of their strength.  Casting a longing filled gaze at a beautifully forged saber, she sighed regretfully before looking at the foils.  A foil weighed less than one pound and was quite flexible.  She would need to build herself back up before taking on the heavier blades.  Settling on a case with a pair of long, graceful practice blades, she nodded to herself before setting her satchel down by a high backed chair next to the door.  Sitting down, she removed her shoes and placed them under the edge of the chair, then stood and removed her robes, laying them over the chair.  

She stepped further into the room before the blazing hearth.  It would be foolish to being without first warming up.  She had, at least, kept her up yoga, in spite of the teasing that it brought her from the other Gryffindor girls.  Next term, when she was Head Girl (she didn't doubt this for a moment), she would have her own room and be allowed to return to blessed privacy.  With flexibility she doubted even Ron and Harry realized she possessed, she began her stretches, going over the names of the different poses in her mind.  Starting with her legs and working up, she stretched and warmed each area of the body until her body temperature was sufficient that the last sensation of being chilled was gone.  She then went back to her robes, took out her wand and walked over to the case.

"Alohamora."  The case opened with a click and there was a soft hissing like that of air escaping.  The scent of polish and age wafted out and over her, bringing another smile to her lips.  She reached up and ran her hand over the length of the blade reverently, not touching it but hovering less than an inch from its surface.  Once her fingers were in line with the hilt, she wrapped them around its thickness and lifted the foil from its place against the crimson velvet.  Its slight weight felt warm and alive in her hand.  She moved it experimentally, getting used to the feel of it as she walked back to the chair and set down her wand.  She rotated her wrist, becoming more in tune with this new extension of her arm as she returned to the center of the room.  Lifting her eyes towards the fire, she began with simple moves long ingrained in her mind.

In her mind she could hear the memory of her grandfather as he coached her through the formal motions.  It didn't take long before her calves, thighs and shoulders were muttering their protestations at being called back into service.  She ignored them, confident that her continued yoga would have kept them strong enough to endure.  Once she was confident that she remembered all the basics, she imagined that she had someone to move against.  Calling to mind sessions she had experienced in the past, she repeated the rigid, controlled movements.  Fencing was not the flamboyant spectacle that was portrayed in movies and television.  It was elegant and masterful.  No cartwheels or swinging from vines, but a swift and intense dance that took place in a space that was only six feet by forty feet.  Though she had never competed, her grandfather had told her that competitions were done by keeping up with touches scored electronically.  Fencing uniforms provided protection though the foils were always tipped.  She had not been afforded that luxury and had nursed numerous bruises throughout her life, much to her mother's chagrin and her grandfather's amusement.  She hadn't regretted a one of them.

She could almost imagine her grandfather there before her, testing her and pushing her to higher and higher levels of motion. It wasn't the same, however, without an opposing foil to defend herself from.  Still, she would settle for the soreness that she knew she would feel in the morning.  That would be discomfort enough.

"You surprise me, Miss Granger."

She gasped and whirled, the foil brought to the ready.  At the doorway, Professor Snape arched an inky black brow at the obvious threat, a smirk playing at his lips.  She blinked, realized that she was pointing a blade at her teacher, even if it were a practice blade that still bore its protective tip, and lowered it quickly.  To her relief, she didn't do anything as clumsy as drop it.  "P… Professor!  I… I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously."  He walked further into the room, the door swinging shut smoothly behind him.  "I would not have though a modern young woman such as yourself would have had any interest in such an antiquated pastime."  His eyes moved over her, taking in the attire and the foil before meeting her brown eyes with his own black orbs.  "How long have you been fencing, Miss Granger?"

"Eight years, sir."  She remained rooted in place.  Was he going to give her detention?  Try to have her expelled for handling potentially lethal weapons?  Take one thousand points from Gryffindor just for the Hell of it?

"Any trophies or titles?"

"N... no sir.  I've never competed.  I... I was my grandfather's sparring partner."

"I see."  His eyes drifted to the chair beside him and her robes lying neatly across it.  Then, to her surprise, he reached up and began to unfasten his own robes.  Her eyes went wide as he removed them and laid them atop her own, leaving him dressed only in a pair of black tailored trousers and a pristine white shirt.  Her head turned to follow him as he walked over to the case still holding the other practice foil.  He reached inside and took the other blade into his hand, then walked back to the center of the room, turning to face her at the proper distance to begin a match.  He smirked at her obvious disbelief, and then raised his foil in salute.

Hermione snapped back to reality and closed her mouth.  She returned the salute, and then both of them took a ready stance.  They remained that way for a long moment, each waiting for the other to make the first move.  The difference between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor was that a Slytherin could wait patiently for things to come to him while a Gryffindor would charge in brashly.  This being true, she made the first move.

He had several advantages over her.  He was taller than she, and taller than her grandfather, which gave him greater reach.  He was still fresh, where she had been on the move for some time and was beginning to become fatigued.  Also, he had been at this much longer than she had, and had moves she wouldn't have even dreamed of.  She was more often on the defensive rather than the offensive, and her youth was doing little to lend her any extra speed.  To her great relief, she was at least able to hold her own.  He had yet to truly humiliate her.

Their breath made white plumes in the air of the room, the hearth unable to chase away all the cold.  Still, their exertions caused them both to sweat.  She ignored the sensation of moisture trailing down between her breasts and attempting to find its way into her eyes, just as she ignored the way Professor Snape's shirt was beginning to cling to him in some places.  Apparently his painful thinness did not mean he lacked for muscles.  Some of his parries made her grit her teeth they struck her blade so hard.  Her hands and wrists were aching from the impacts.  When he scored hits, and he scored them often, she had to force herself not to yelp.  She was beginning to see why it was a common practice to wear the uniforms.  

At least she scored on him as well.  She felt her foil tip connect with rarity, but it did connect.  Each time she did, however, he would attack with new vigor, forcing her on the defensive again.  Her petite stature was not doing anything to help her.  She would not resort to running around him like a rabbit, either.  As they continued on, she began to loose strength.  Somewhere in her mind was a voice scolding her for pushing herself too hard after being away from fencing this long, but she would not allow herself to beg off, not from him.  She would not have this precious part of her life spoiled by one of his biting comments.  

She would wonder for a long time about what happened next.  She attempted to score another hit on him, but he quickly deflected her attack down, moving forward to grasp her wrist with his free hand.  She stopped, meeting his eyes with her own.  "I think, Miss Granger, that we will end this here.  I do not believe you can go on much longer."  She was released to stand up again as he stepped back.  They saluted one another again, and then he held out his free hand for her foil.  "My compliments to your grandfather.  He has trained you quite well, though it is obvious that you have been neglecting your training."  He walked to the display case, summoned a polishing cloth from thin air, and wiped both blades clean of their finger prints and sweat before placing them within their velvet resting place.  

"I haven't had the chance to practice."  She felt awkward.  Part of her would have been quite happy to just collapse right here and sleep before the heart on the thick carpeting.  Another part wanted to seek out the nearest hot bath.  Still another part of her was too nervous about being in the same room with her Potions master who wasn't behaving at all like his normal self.  "I… I didn't know about this room."

"Few do.  There aren't many wizards who bother with learning this particular skill any longer.  It was once considered to be the sport of gentlemen and an elegant alternative to wand waving and curses. A battle lasted longer and skill, more than strength, was often the deciding factor."  He locked the case and turned to face her, forming his hands into a pyramid before him and studying her closely.  She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  "It has been some time since I've had someone to spar against.  I thank you for your time."

"It was my pleasure, sir."  The words surprised her, but she knew they were true.  It had been a pleasure.  Her grandfather often went easy on her and she knew he would never be too vicious in his attacks.  Snape, however, was a different story.  There had been a rush of adrenaline far greater than any she had ever experienced outside of pure terror.  

"Indeed."  His voice wrapped around her, causing her to shiver in spite of the blazing fire at her back.  She ignored the tightening in her nipples, not wanting to dwell on the fact that she was wearing far less clothing than she had ever done before one of her teachers.  "Then perhaps you would be willing to indulge me in further sessions."

That got her attention.  To be able to come here again and to share this with someone who also held a love for the sport gave her a thrill.  "I would be honored, sir."

"Three times each week, then?  Tuesdays and Thursdays after the dinner hour, and Sundays one hour before breakfast."  She nodded her agreement.  "Do be mindful of what you eat on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Miss Granger. Too much food will make you sluggish and is apt to make you ill should you exert yourself as much as you did tonight."  She bristled at this.  She knew these things already!  She wasn't about to stuff herself to bursting just to throw it all up again later.

"Yes, sir."

"It is agreed then."  He walked over to the chair and reclaimed his robes, donning them in a rustle of fabric.  "I will expect you this coming Sunday, Miss Granger.  Do try to be on time.  Now I believe it is time you returned to your dormitory and sought out a hot bath.  You are going to need it."  He placed his hand on the door handle, and then turned to look at her before leaving.  "I will send a potion to you in the morning for the muscle fatigue.  You have pushed yourself too far this evening."  He bowed slightly, and then left her alone in the room.  She stared at the now closed door for a long moment before pulling herself back to the present.  Donning her robe and shoes, she shouldered her pack again and left the room, hearing the hearth and sconces extinguish themselves once she crossed the threshold.  


	2. Chapter Two

_Dear Reader,_

_I'm… awestruck.  The first chapter of The Rapier__ has gotten as many reviews as my each of my other pieces with their multiple chapters.  And all your words, so far, are positive.  I'm flattered that you're enjoying the story.  _

_Now, to set some minds at ease:  I have no intentions of bringing a time turner into this story and I do plan to tell this all from Severus' point of view in the future.  However, telling his side right now could spoil Hermione's view for everyone.  Also, I have not abandoned Antigone__ or Force of Magic (Star Wars __category­) but I cannot think of one story line when another is hammering around inside my brain.  I know it makes me abysmally slow, but I will do my best to make up for it and get new chapters up soon. _

_A special thanks to those who have some knowledge of fencing.  I would like to thank the people who manage the web site for the __Arkansas__Fencing__Academy__ (http://arkansasfencingacademy.com) since it's from their site I'm getting many of my terms and the information as to the weights of the blades.  Those of you who have a familiarity of the sport, please feel free to email me with any corrections or interesting articles you think may help me._

_Now, please remember, I only lay claim to the plot.  The characters, the school and the universe are all the creation of J.K. Rowling, and I would never dream of taking away her thunder.  Give credit where credit is due and please enjoy this humble offering.  Also, give a thanks to my wonderful Beta Reader, Aly.  She has graciously volunteered to play the lab rat before you see the following chapters._

_Love,_

_ChelleyBean_

~***~

She really had no overwhelming desire to move.  Even taking deep breaths brought the soreness in her rib cage to her attention.  The thought of actually moving limbs was terrifying.  Perhaps she could just stay here for the rest of the day and no one would notice.

"Mya!  Get up!  Harry and Ron are waiting to walk us to breakfast!"  The sudden weight that shook her bed could only be Ginny Weasley.  Hermione gasped as shoulders, abdomen and thighs screamed in protest at the sudden movement.  The younger girl froze instantly.  "Mya?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing."  She slowly moved to sit up, trying not to wince at the soreness.  Something on the bedside table caught her eye and she turned to see a stoppered vial of something thick and crimson resting there.  Ginny spotted it as well.

"What's that?"

"Just… just a potion.  For the soreness."  That would never do.  Ginny would wonder how she got this way in the first place.  She hated to lie to a friend, but she wasn't ready to share her secret just yet.  "I… fell, in the library.  Couldn't see over my books and tripped."  The girl seemed to believe it, because she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Hermione, only you could make studying into a full contact sport."  She reached out and picked up the vial, removed the stopper and thrust it out towards her.  "Now, drink up like a good girl, or I'm telling Madame Pomfrey that you're not following her orders."  She grinned as the older girl snarled at her before taking the vial and drinking it down.  To her surprise, it didn't taste foul, but rather like vanilla and ginger with a touch of lavender beneath it.  As it hit her stomach relaxing warmth began to spread throughout her body and gradually the pain decreased.

_I knew it.  He doesn't have to make them taste bad at all.  He just does it to torment us.  She turned the now empty vial upside down to demonstrate that it was, indeed, empty.  "Happy, Mom?"_

The redhead giggled, and then scrambled off the bed.  "C'mon, we need to get cleaned up and dressed."  She grasped Hermione's hand in both of her own and pulled.  "Out of bed!"

"Y'know, they used to burn morning people at the stake."  She allowed herself to be pulled out of bed, though, and reached for her dresser.  Saturday meant Muggle clothing, so she pulled out a pair of jeans, a comfortable sweater and her under things.  Ginny was already gone, doubtless running back to the fifth year dorm for her own clothing before joining her in the bathroom.  She stifled a yawn as she padded her way across the room to the large bathing chamber that connected the fifth, sixth and seventh year girls' rooms.  Ginny, as expected, came bursting through another door.

"What's with you today?  You're usually as much of a morning person as I am.  Did you hit your head when you fell or something?"

"Must have."  Setting her clothing aside on a cushioned bench to keep dry, she began to undo the tiny buttons of her pajamas.  She was still having trouble keeping her eyes open as she shrugged off the soft cotton top.  Ginny's gasp brought her back to the world of the living.

"Hermione!  What did you do to yourself?"

She looked down and blinked.  All along her torso and chest little rosettes of black and blue had blossomed.  She winced at the physical signs of the previous night's practice.  No wonder it had hurt to breathe.  "It's just a few bruises. They'll fade in time."

"A few?  You look like someone's beaten you with a club!"

_Not as far off as you might think, Ginny Dear.  "It looks worse than it really is, honestly.  They'll fade."  The other girl was still staring at her in horror, but thanks to Professor Snape's excellent potion, she was able to move without pain.  "Get over it, Ginny!  I'm fine, I promise."  She reached inside one of the large, glass shower stalls and twisted the taps.  Soon, steaming water touched with the light scent of cherries came pouring out of the showerhead, just one shade below being too hot.  Stripping off the rest of her night clothes, she stepped in under the blast. She didn't really need the shower, of course.  She had gone directly into one of the deep bathtubs the moment she had returned to the dormitories and soaked in steaming bubbles for nearly an hour before retiring to bed.  It hadn't helped nearly as much as she had hoped it would._

Ginny chattered while they showered.  Most of it was about schoolwork.  Had Hermione been someone else, Ginny would have rattled on incessantly about boys.  However, since everyone knew Hermione Granger had little time for boys, she stuck to the subjects you would speak about to Hogwarts' finest mind.  The words flowed over her like the water as she relished the ability to clean herself without wincing at every tender spot.  Too bad the potion didn't take care of bruising.

Thankfully, Ginny seemed to have dropped her earlier questions as they dried off and dressed.  A quick charm that Professor McGonagall had taught her both dried and tamed her impossible hair in an instant.  Not wishing to spend her entire day fighting with it (_perhaps I should just chop it all off) she pulled it back in a low tail and wrapped an elastic around it.  She ignored another bout of Ginny's eye rolling at the fact she wasn't going to do anything more in way of preparation and lead the way out._

Have two boys for your best friends could be irritating and liberating all at once.  For one, they were such _boys!  Thankfully, they censored their more randy subjects when around the girls, mainly because Hermione was viewed as a modern-day version of a Puritan and Ginny was… well… Ginny, but that meant that they had to listen to hour after hour of Quidditch.  As the girls entered the Great Hall, Harry and Ron caught sight of them.  Though they were still too far away to hear what was being said, she could tell from their body language that they were changing the subject to as not to offend.  _

"Hello, Sleepy Head!  Did you even _remember to leave the library last night?"  Emerald eyes flashed mischievously from behind a pair of round spectacles as Ron sniggered.  Before she could answer, however, Ginny decided to put in her two bits._

"Oh, she had to.  Seems that Miss Granger actually lost a battle with a book.  She was probably nosing about in the restricted section."

"Really?  Hermione Granger?  Breaking the rules?  Tut, tut.  What would Professor McGonagall say?"  Ron grinned broadly at her.  "I think you should get detention for that one, I really do.  Don't you agree, Harry?"

"Completely.  Miss Granger," Harry gave her what he probably thought was a good impression of Professor Snape, "you shall serve detention this afternoon by going to Honeydukes with your friends.  While there you will completely ignore everything your dentist parents have ever taught you and buy things that will most likely do irreparable damage to your teeth."

"And it serves you right!"  Ginny was attempting to look like McGonagall, though the fact that she erupted into giggles ruined the overall effect.  There was nothing to do but roll her eyes and tolerate the well-meaning intentions of her three friends.  They ate their fill at breakfast, not knowing yet if they would return in time for lunch, and then headed out with the rest of the students who were going to the village for the day.  Hermione was trying her best to look interested in Ron's enthusiastic explanation of some particularly tricky Quidditch maneuver.  Harry and Ginny were playing their usual game of trying to be a couple without actually admitting they were a couple, something Hermione feared they would continue to do until one or both of them finally confessed to themselves that they were in love.  If it were possible to beat such a realization into someone's skull, she would have already tried it.

~***~

She had hardly touched her dinner that night, thought it was only partly due to the needlessly large amount of sweets and warm butterbeer she had indulged in during the day.  As ordered she had purchased a good many tooth-decaying sweets, including her favorites; peppermint toads and chocolate frogs.  She had always thought amphibians had a certain… cuteness… about them.  She also bought a good number of tooth flossing string mints (W_e said **bad things, Hermione!).  Somehow she had managed to convince the others to grant her enough time to purchase three new books (**__Don't you have enough of those already, Hermione?) and Harry had treated them all to double sized sundaes.  In the sunlight and crisp Autumn air, they had enjoyed a day of no classes, no demanding teachers and, since the trio had ended up with a detention after attempting to jinx the Gryffindor team brooms, no Draco, Crabbe and Goyle._

With her stomach still filled with sugar and cream, she had only nibbled a few vegetables and a bit of ham from her plate before returning to the common room to do some studying (_But it's **Saturday Hermione!) before turning in.  She found it difficult to concentrate on the many dates and facts of history, however, since her mind kept drifting to the planned activities the next morning.  She knew it was only her imagination, but she thought she could almost hear the blades in The Rapier Room singing out to her, inviting her to come for a visit.  In her mind's eye she could picture them, still and beautiful, the firelight dancing along their gleaming edges.  She longed for the controlled elegance and grace of them, so very different from the chaos that was the life of a sixteen-year-old girl.  Eventually, she gave up on studying and opted to turn in early, mumbling some silly excuse about the healing potion she had taken that morning was making her tired.**_

Sleep wouldn't come easy.  She woke often in the night, and to her irritation, her sword hand tingled, an odd feeling of emptiness about it.  In all her years of training, she had never been affected in this manner before.  As she rolled over and snuggled more deeply within her covers, she pondered the differences between sparring with her grandfather and sparring with Professor Snape.  Grandfather loved her, and in spite of his teaching her how to fence, he still considered her to be his princess, a delicate little flower.  He had never put his full talent against her, always taking care not to bruise her pride.  Professor Snape, on the other hand, held no such affection for her.  He had tested her skills, and every time she had found a way through his defenses, he had upped the ante.  Would he be even more ruthless in the morning?  Shivering in anticipation of the coming session, she curled herself tightly into a ball underneath the thick comforter.

She caught a few more quick bouts of sleep before she her internal clock alerted her that it was time to get up.  The house elves, the dear things, had been more than willing to do a rush job on cleaning her workout clothes.  She had an order for more penned to send off with the Monday morning post.  Slipping into the stretchy leggings and sports bra, she ignored the gooseflesh brought on by the chill in the room.  _Honestly!  You'd think some clever wizard would have found a magical equivalent to central heat and air by now!  She pulled her robes over her head and grabbed a pair of comfortable shoes.  Walking across the frigid floor in bare feet so as not to wake Lavender or Pavarti, she crept out of her dormitory, made her way down the stairs, through the common room and out the portrait hole._

The halls were deadly quiet.  Even Peeves had moved on to better pranking grounds by now.  Still, she kept to the shadows, moving through the darkened halls and down empty staircases towards her goal.  Her excitement continued to grow as she neared The Rapier Room, so much so that it was all she could do not to run the remainder of the way there.  She had slipped her shoes on once she had exited the portrait hole to shield her feet from the stone floors, but once she was inside the room with its thick carpet, she kicked them off, bending over to place them neatly under the chair.  Shucking off her robe and folding it before setting it down, she took advantage of her early arrival by stretching out.  The potion had worn off, but it had served to speed the muscles in their healing so that she was only a little tender.  

Pulling herself into that place in her mind where there was only body and breath, she began moving through the poses, challenging the muscles to bend in ways that most people would have thought impossible.  It had all started as a game in her youth, watching her mother when she was practicing.  Then she had still had the flexibility of childhood, when bones were still soft enough that you would twist yourself into a pretzel.  Staring yoga then had allowed her to keep most of that flexibility, she surmised now that she had her legs in a full split, hands wrapped around her ankles and her chest pressed flat against the floor.

"I did not know that the human spine was capable of such a position."  She turned her head to the side, still in the same posture, and saw that Professor Snape had arrived.  He was without his outer robes and was removing the severe black jacket he was wearing.  

"Not without a lot of practice."  She sat up, brought her legs together, then rolled back, placing her feet on the floor and standing up, all in one smooth motion.  Turning back to face her teacher, she tilted her head to one side at his arched brow.

"Do try not to be such a show off, Miss Granger."  He crossed the room to the case holding the foils they had used before.  "Until you've built up greater strength, we shall stick to the lighter blades."  Removing them from the case, he turned towards her.  "You _have worked with heavier blades?"_

"Yes, Sir."  She accepted her foil and stepped back a proper distance from him as he took up his own position.  They exchanged salutes and then began.

As before, she moved first.  She just didn't have his patience.  Not that it would have made a difference; he was far beyond her in skill level.  Still, every time she managed to find a way through his defense was a victory.  Of course, she doubted that she was going to leave him looking like a two legged Dalmatian when she was finished.  His own movements were breathtaking.  He moved like quick silver, quick and deadly with a grace that would make a prima ballerina seethe with jealousy.  It reminded her of films she had seen of famous martial artists who had studied their art since the time they could walk, ever conscious of just how much damage, how much lethal force was at their disposal.  

The blood pounded in her ears, her breathing ragged in spite of her attempts to keep it even.  She watched his eyes for indications of every move, but still he surprised her.  He just didn't give anything away, not even a leading indication with his body.  Her arms and shoulders were screaming at her in protest and he didn't even show signs of growing weary.  He was sweating, just as she was, but he looked as though he could continue this for the entire day.  Still fearing that she would be subject to his cold ridicule should she beg off, she pressed onward.  This was not Potions, and she would not be tormented as though it were.

Press forward, fall back, parry, attack, everything moved so quickly that she couldn't help but become wrapped up inside it all.  It was like a whirlwind of mental commands roaring inside her mind.  She tried to shut out the weariness her arms and shoulders, forced herself to ignore the way her foil trembled as she grew weaker.  She was desperate, but for something that she knew he would never give her.  Five full years in his class, now in her sixth, he had never once uttered a word of praise for her, never once acknowledged her hard work and love for learning.  An insufferable know-it-all.  An annoying Gryffindor.  That was what he thought of her, what he considered her.  She was a fool if she believed that she could do anything, could know anything that would change that opinion.

The years of snide remarks and barely concealed insults burned within her.  With a soft growl she launched a new attack that he countered effortlessly.  Determined to leave at least one mark on him to match those he had give her, she made a desperate move… and was captured.  Slender, iron strong fingers gripped her wrist fiercely as he pulled her forward until her shoulder was in line with his body.  He held her there for a brief moment that seemed to stretch out for eternity, and then bent down to speak against her ear.

"Passion, anger and frustration are death to the duelist, Miss Granger."  His voice was a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the fire.  She shivered as his breath caused the short hairs that had escaped from her braid to tickle the edge of her ear.  "When you allow emotions to rage out of control, they cause you to make foolish moves.  A true opponent could have easily ended your life just now."  His fingers began to tighten on her wrist until the bones began to grind together.  She gasped and opened her hand, the foil landing onto the carpet with a soft _thud.  "I believe that will be all for today."_

He released her and she stepped back quickly, fighting the urge to rub her now aching wrist as he gave her a salute, then claimed the fallen blade.  Again he summoned a cloth and wiped them clean before returning them to the case.  He back was still to her when he spoke.  "What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Misters Potter and Weasley?"

"Sir?"  That came out of nowhere.  "We're friends, sir."

He turned around to face her again, his expression unreadable.  "Just friends?  Nothing more?"

She frowned.  "No sir, only friends."  He nodded, his eyes flicking downward.  She followed his gaze to look at her exposed midriff and flinched as she recalled the bruises there, new ones already joining them.

"Is there an intimate who would be in the position to see you without your usual robes, then?"  She flushed as she realized he was asking if there was a lover who might find the evidence of their sessions.

"No, Professor."  She felt as though her entire face were on fire.  "Only… Ginny Weasley saw them yesterday morning, when we were…"  She trailed off, not entirely comfortable about talking to a male teacher about showering.  He seemed to understand, however.  At least he didn't seem to think that she and Ginny were more than friends.

"What did you tell her?"

"That I fell in the library."  She met his gaze again and was surprised that he seemed to be trying to fight a smile at this.

"Entirely plausible, coming from you."  He retrieved his jacket and tossed her robes to her.  "Come with me.  I think we may be able to remedy the problem."  He gave her enough time to fasten her robe and slip on her shoes before leading the way.  Exiting the upper floors, he led her into the dungeons and to the room where Potions classes were held.  He motioned for her to take one of the seats before his personal work space while he gathered ingredients from his store room and brought them over.  

He handed her a shrivel fig vine.  "Chop that finely, and try to make the pieces as even as possible."  With a softly uttered spell, he ignited the fire under his cauldron and poured in a liter of water from a heavy brown bottle.  "Your technique is strong, the foundations are there, but you will need to gain more physical strength if you're to be able to hold your own against a real opponent."

The knife in her hand hovered over the vine.  Had he just… had he just said something nice to her?  

"Keep working.  I'm sure you don't wish to miss breakfast."  He added something from a crystal bottle, but all she could make of the label was 'venom'.  

"Sir, what is that?"

"Venom from a female fetuckur serpent.  What do you know of them?"

"They live in the southern hemisphere.  The females differ from the males because they have a neurotoxin for venom while the males are more like a standard pit viper.  A bite from a female can paralyze a fully grown elephant, causing the animal to suffocate because the lungs no longer work, much like the curare poison from South America works."

"Correct, Miss Granger.  Now, what use would the venom be in medicinal potions?"

She pondered this, considering the properties of the venom carefully.  "Topical uses only, to deaden muscle spasms and nerve endings.  It lasts longer than curare, but it's still only temporary."

"Again, correct.  Now, what of the shrivel fig vine you are supposed to be cutting?"

She blushed and lowered her head to continue cutting the vine as she spoke.  "It can reduce swelling in the tissues when mixed with water from the Dead Sea.  Is that what you put into the cauldron, then?"

"Gratifying to see that you extend your studies beyond the assigned books.  None of that was in any of yours texts so far.  Now, why would I be adding extract of ginger to this?"  He was, indeed, adding ginger.  The spicy, pungent aroma burned the membranes of her nose.  Her brow furrowed as she went over the entries on the root in her mind.

"It… it increases blood flow.  Taken internally it can raise the body temperature and in large enough doses can be used to bring on a late menstrual cycle if it is not due to pregnancy.  Topically it encourages an increase in blood flow to the surface of the skin… breaking up blood clots."  She grinned as she put it all together.  "It's an ointment or rub.  The venom will take away tenderness, the shrivel fig and Dead Sea water will reduce the swelling and the ginger will encourage the blood to break up and be reabsorbed by the body, making the bruises fade."

"And the mandrake oil?"  He unstoppered the vial in question and began to add it to the cauldron.

"Speeds the whole process up, reducing what could take a week to just a day or two."

"I'll likely never say this out loud again, Miss Granger, but ten points to Gryffindor."  His smile was slight and well contained as he waited for her to finish with the vine.  She lowered her eyes, blushing again.  If she had just earned a college level degree in all of her most favorite subjects, she would not have been happier than she was at that moment.  She finished with the shrivel fig vine and set the knife down.  Scooping up the carefully sliced sections, she added them to the cauldron as he stirred.  "Why did you not tell Miss Weasley the truth?"

The truth?  She pondered what he meant, then remembered her excuse for the bruises.  "Oh, well… it's private.  I mean… she's not likely to understand why I let the most feared teacher in the school come at me with a sword.  And Harry and Ron, they'd likely drag me to St. Mungo's kicking and screaming, and then come after you.  Besides, none of them would ever understand… they couldn't fathom…"

"The thrill of it all?"  He nodded to himself as the potion turned an interesting shade of lavender, then picked up a tin of something thick and gloopy.  She watched as he added to the cauldron and the potion began to solidify into a soft salve.  "They couldn't begin to understand the delicate demands of fencing on the body and the personal rewards at being excellent at something so graceful.  It is more useful than ballet and far more beautiful than poisons and hexes.  Modern man uses weapons that hurl projectiles and impossible speeds and splatter skulls into so much jelly, but there is an art to being able to kill with a blade."  He summoned several small tins from the open store room and began to transfer the salve into them.  "Not that I believe you have ever claimed a life, Miss Granger.  You are still far too young and innocent to have shed blood.  I would wager you were even shocked at your actions the night you attacked me in the Shrieking Shack."

She flushed a brilliant scarlet at the reminder.  She had been mortified that she had attacked a teacher.  "Well… that is… you weren't listening to us.  You were about to make a horrible mistake!"

"That is a matter of opinion, Miss Granger.  I wouldn't be at all sad to see Black reduced to a mindless vegetable.  I have never liked the man."  He capped off all but the last tin.  "Remove your robe."  She obeyed without question as he came around the work table, dipping his fingers into the salve.  She froze in shock as she realized he intended to apply the salve himself.  Those strong, elegant fingers that had been grinding the bones of her wrist together mercilessly less than an hour ago were now gently rubbing substance, now rendered sweet smelling by the thickening agent, into her skin.  "I trust that is the only time you've attacked a teacher."

She nodded mutely, and then recalled something else.  "Oh… well… there was _one other time that I…"_

He looked up at her, dipping his fingers into the tin again.  "Another time?  I haven't heard about that one, Miss Granger.  Please, do enlighten me as to who the unlucky individual was."

"Well… it was you, Professor.  My first year… during the first Quidditch match.  We… Ron and I that is… we thought you were the one jinxing Harry's broom."  She bit down on her lip, lowering her eyes from his own.  He was silent for a long moment before he began rubbing the salve into another bruise.

"The flames.  My robes caught on fire."  He hit a ticklish area and she stifled a giggle as she squirmed.  "I had wondered who was behind that.  I so often write off first years as being next to useless that it never occurred to me that you were the culprit.  However, after you so boldly lied to not only me but also Professor McGonagall on Halloween, that you would set me aflame shouldn't come as surprise."

"I never!"  She stopped as he met her gaze again, one brow arched.

"Still sticking to that ridiculous tale that you thought you could take on a fully grown troll by yourself?"  She remembered the rest of that night clearly and lowered her head again.  "I thought not.  I may not make it a habit to praise students of other houses, Miss Granger, but even I can admit you're too intelligent to do anything that stupid.  Minerva would have realized it as well except that she is too blinded by her adoration of you to consider the possibility that you have a troublesome streak in you."  

They fell silent as he finished tending to her bruises.  The confessions had relaxed her and she no longer felt as awkward at the fact he was touching her.  Her eyes watched his fingers as he smoothed the salve into her skin until it vanished, marveling at the heat of his fingers.  There were no further sounds other than that of the last flames underneath his cauldron and their own breathing.  His movements were slow and tender as he worked over every visible bruise, he didn't ask her to remove the sports bra, ending with an especially ugly one just under her left breast.  He started working the salve into the center of it, the tingling sensation caused by the venom numbing the soreness there.  His fingers worked in slow circles, moving outward until he was treating the very edges of the bruise, slipping them just under the edge of the black elastic towards the end to catch where the darkened skin hid.  Her breath caught at the motion, feeling an odd fluttering low in her belly, then feeling saddened as he removed his hand and capped the tin before handing it to her.  

"I'll keep the others here.  Let me know when you have need of another."  He waited as she hurriedly put on her robe, then handed her the salve.  "Use it before you go to bed and when you get up in the morning."  He moved to his store room and came back with another vial similar to the one that had been on her bedside table the previous morning.  He handed it to her and she drank it unquestioningly.  "Tuesday evening, then, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir."  She tucked a straying lock behind her ear and tried to meet his gaze bravely before turning about.  

"Oh, and Miss Granger," she stopped and turned to look back at him, "I would appreciate it if you didn't mention my awarding your house points to anyone else.  It could cause… complications."

_And don't expect things to change around others.  He didn't have to say it, the meaning was implied.  He would be every bit the bastard around the other students, but somehow that suddenly seemed all right.  "Not a word, Professor."_

He nodded, then turned away to clean up his work space.  It was a silent and clear dismissal… and the signal for her stomach to remind her how empty it was.  Thankfully, breakfast was served longer on weekends, and Harry and Ron wouldn't drag themselves out of bed for at least another half an hour.  She should have enough time to change clothes and tidy up a bit before it was time to eat.  

And perhaps by then she would no longer feel the heat of Professor Snape's fingers on her skin.


	3. Chapter Three

_Dear Readers,_

_You continue to amaze me with your acceptance of this story.  Thank you for all of your kind words and helpful criticisms.  I hope that I can continue to hold your interests.  I'm afraid that most of you will not particularly like this chapter, but please be assured there is a reason for it._

_For those who ask what Snape's POV is, again I ask you to wait.  I do not want his thoughts to ruin the flavor of Hermione's POV, so I will most likely complete the story from her side before giving you his.  _

_Again I remind you that I own nothing except the plot.  Our heroes and their world belong to J.K. Rowling.  Also, take time to thank Aly for her bravery in testing out the new chapters beforehand.  I hope it isn't proving too painful for her._

_Love,_

_ChelleyBean_

~***~

She had woken up sometime before dawn as had become her habit on Sunday mornings.  Without so much as a groan of protest, she sat up in bed, swung her legs out from underneath the thick blankets and placed her feet upon the floor besides her bed.  As her toes connected with plush, cool carpet, she paused.  The floors in the girls' dormitories were bare wood and stone, and so cold in the wintertime that feet were in danger of developing frost bite.  She should not be digging her feet into carpet.

Her sleep fogged brain whirred into life as she recalled recent events.  Of course, it was the Christmas Holiday, and she had come home to be with her family.  There wasn't to be a practice this morning, and the thought of this made her frown, her eyes still closed.  Sunday no longer seemed like Sunday without sneaking off to meet Professor Snape at the end of a sword.  Still, it wasn't as though she could use magic in order to keep her usual appointment, and she was still too young to get her apparition license.  Besides, what would her mother say if she simply vanished and left her Christmas guest here alone?  After hearing her daughter talk about how horrid the Dursley's were to Harry, Catherine Granger had extended an invitation to the young man to spend the holidays with them.  Since every Weasley was expected to descend upon The Burrow this year, the older ones with wives and rosy faced children in tow, Harry had been happy to accept.  It wasn't as if Molly and Arthur Weasley wouldn't have welcomed both he and Hermione, Harry just thought that there would be too many faces to keep up with as it was.

Knowing that Harry wasn't likely to get up for at least a few more hours yet and that there would be no point in getting up, Hermione swung herself back into bed and snuggled deeply into the covers.  Rare was the morning that she could indulge herself by sleeping in.  She might as well make the most of it.

~***~

Was it raining?  Perhaps she had left her window open, because water drops were falling onto her face.  She frowned, fighting her way up from slumber before opening her eyes.  There, about six inches above her face, was an unruly mop of jet back hair, still wet from the shower and being shaken by its owner so that the water fell from it.  "Harry!"  The boy jumped back from the bed, grinned, and then darted towards the door to the bathroom.  

"Your mum said for you to get up.  Your dad wants us to help move the furniture to make room for everything."  He shut the door before she could reach him.  The small bathroom connected her bedroom with the guest room where he was sleeping.  By the time she had opened that door and run through the steam filled bath, he had locked the door to his own room.  She struck it hard with her fist and heard him laughing from the other side.  "Be thankful!  My first idea was to dump a whole pitcher full over you."

She glared at the locked door, and then turned away from it.  Honestly!  If this is what having a brother was like, she was quite grateful to be an only child.  She hoped he hadn't used all of the hot water.  Returning to her own room, she dug out a pair of knickers and a bra from her dresser, then claimed a chunky sweater and jeans from her closet.  The jeans would be too large on her, so she grabbed a belt as well.  The sweater would cover the waistline, hopefully enough so that her mother wouldn't get worried again.  

The day she and Harry had stepped off the train, Catherine and Joseph Granger had whisked them away to purchase clothing for The Family Dinner.  The Grangers always dressed to the nines when they all got together, and both children had needed something appropriate.  Though Harry tried to back out politely, her mother had firmly shoved him in the direction of Mr. Granger and ordered her husband to keep in mind that it was an evening supper.  He would be spared a tux or three piece suit, but neatly pressed slacks, a button down shirt and possibly a tie would be expected.  Hermione had been carted off to a hideously expensive dress shop where she was handed over to the not-so-tender mercies of Madame St. Germaine, a French modiste she secretly suspected of having originated in Wales.  Madame St. Germaine was also the type of woman who had a bad habit of not minding her own business.  She proved this by demanding to know if Hermione's school ever bothered to feed her, as she was now two dress sizes smaller than she had been during the summer when she hadn't been all that big to begin with.  Her mother had been alarmed.  A dentist and recovering 'health nut', Mother was of the opinion that a girl should be a healthy weight.  She frowned at the bony, underfed models that had become the hallmark of beauty.  Immediately she began checking her daughter for signs of malnourishment, even checking her teeth for any indication that the enamel was being eaten away from purging.  It had taken Hermione the better part of fifteen minutes to convince her that she was eating and that she wasn't trying to starve herself into nothingness.  

When she had returned home, however, Hermione had locked Harry out of their joint bath and studied her naked form in the full length mirror.  She hadn't truly been paying attention, but she was smaller.  Professor Snape was a ruthless task master, and since their sessions had begun in late September what little puppy fat left over from her childhood had been melted away.  She couldn't see her ribs or collarbones, but she could definitely feel them there, just under the skin and what little body fat she had left.  She must have still had some fat, because the muscles of her abdomen, thighs and calves still looked long and smooth.  She had feared that she would find them lumpy and bulging, like a ballerina who had been on _Pointe for too many years.  All in all, she supposed she didn't look too bad, though she would definitely need to look into buying some smaller clothes.  _

Harry hadn't taken _all of the hot water, but he had only left her enough to wash her hair.  By the time she was finished, the stream was cold and she finished quickly to escape it.  Since she would have to come back up to get into her new dress later, she went ahead and took the time to blow dry her hair.  As much as there was, and with the way it loved to hold onto water, this took her a good forty minutes.  She went by sections, clipping the bulk of it onto the top of her head, taking a bit down as the under portions were finished.  The amount of time and care it took to do this was why she usually didn't bother, but once she was done most of the curl had been worked out, leaving her only soft waves.  She pulled it back into a loose pony tail to keep it out of her way and dressed quickly before hurrying downstairs. _

Harry and her father had already moved most of the smaller pieces.  Their home was filled with a lot of heavy antiques that had been in her grandparents' home until the time they had to move to someplace smaller and closer to a hospital.  The pieces had been made to last, as furniture had been over a century ago.  It showed in the amount of effort the men were putting into moving the stuff.  "Mya, come over here and help Harry grab the other end of this."  She hurried over and bent down next to Harry, placing her fingers underneath the end of a beautifully carved divan.  Between the three of them, they managed to move the various pieces of furniture from the den into the study, and then carry the dining room table from the dining room into the den.  In its present state, it fit the original room perfectly, but it would be too long once the leaves were put back into the center.  Harry and her father pulled the ends apart so that she could place the three pieces in the center, extending it so that it was long enough for the entire family.  Her father then left to get some wood for the fire while she and Harry put the chairs around the table.

"How many people are coming?"

"Well, there's Mum's sister, Aunt Helen.  You'll like her.  She completely ignores the house rule against sugar and bakes all sorts of good treats.  She'll be here in an hour or so to help Mum with dinner."  She fetched a long, heavy table cloth and tossed one end of it to Harry.  "Then there's my father's side of the family.  He has two brothers, Matthew and Jonathan.  Uncle Matthew is married to Aunt Beatrice and they have two sons, George and Michael.  Uncle Jonathan is married to Aunt Tiffany and they have one son, Fred, and two daughters, Alice and Elizabeth.  Father's sister is Caroline, married to Uncle Herbert and mother to William.  He's the youngest, only eight-years-old."

Harry grinned at her as he smoothed his side of the table cloth.  "You have cousins named Fred and George?"

"Yes, and all of England should be thankful that they're cousins and not brothers.  They're only a month apart in age and when they're together they're almost as bad as the Weasley's.  The only thing keeping them from being worse is that the powers of creation had enough forethought not to let them be born wizards."

Her friend chuckled.  "Oh, I can't wait to meet them."  They walked from the den to the kitchen to raid a bit of food.  "All your family knows, then?  About you being a witch, I mean."

"Of course we know."  Catherine smiled as she turned from the stove, ran her fingers over Harry's hair in a vain attempt to tame it, then motioned for them to sit down.  "It was a relief to find out, actually.  It explained so many things, like the time she blew out the side of the garage when we knew we hadn't given her that chemistry set, yet.  I just knew she had been snooping around and found her Christmas presents early that year.  Joseph and I were furious, thinking she was lying to us when she swore she didn't.  Of course we checked later and found it still hidden away and unopened."

Harry laughed heartily as Mrs. Granger gave them both plates with slices of ham and scones still warm from the oven that morning.  "What did happen to make her blow out the wall?"

"Some of the boys in the neighborhood were teasing her for being the cleverest girl in school.  It got her angry."  Catherine smiled and kissed the top of her daughter's head affectionately.  "Always a bright one, our Mya."

"She's top of our class at school, too.  No one's better, not even in Potions and Professor Snape is always out to get us Gryffindors."  He beamed over at his friend, who was blushing a nice shade of burgundy.  "We all expect she'll be Head Girl next year."

Hermione was about to say something in Professor Snape's defense, a bit bristly that her friend pictured him in such a bad light.  She stopped herself, however, not wishing to start Harry asking questions.  Besides, he did have reason to dislike the Potions Master, most students did, herself included.  With the exception of their time together in practice, there were no words of praise or encouragement from him to keep her going.  She doubted even his Slytherins were allowed to glimpse him as she had.

"I got that impression as well, from the letters I receive from your school.  Do you know if they have a proper graduation ceremony at the end of the seventh year?  Joseph and I have wanted to see Hogwarts."

"There's something, but we've never seen it.  It's only for seventh years."  Harry stuck his fork into a slice of ham on Hermione's plate and deftly swiped it.  She frowned at him and then used her own fork to steal it back.  He grinned, unrepentant.  Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes playfully and turned her attention back to her cooking.  

Aunt Helen, as promised, showed up about an hour later.  She was a plump, kind faced woman with short, frizzy dark hair.  Quickly commandeering the teens, she set them to bringing three pies and a towering cake in from her car.  As a reward, she let Harry choose which pie he'd like to eat right then (ignoring the stern look from her sister) and cheerfully cut both he and Hermione slices of the chocolate one he selected.  They enjoyed every creamy bite, licking their forks clean.  Christmas pie always tasted better than any other time of the year, though this one was so good that Harry had leaned over and asked Hermione if she was sure her aunt wasn't a witch herself.

Once they finished their pie, her mother sent them off to wrap the remainder of the gifts before the rest of the family arrived.  They were waiting for them on her parents' bed, along with paper and ribbons.  Sitting cross legged on the floor, they worked together.  "Why are we having dinner today?  Why not tomorrow night?"

"We always have The Family Dinner on the twenty-third.  Tomorrow everyone goes to their respective in-laws and on Christmas day we go visit Grandfather."

Harry held his finger over a knot of ribbon so that Hermione could tie it into a bow.  "Why isn't your grandfather coming to dinner tonight?"

"Oh… well… he's ill.  Very ill.  A cancer of the bones.  You can stay here when we go see him, if you like.  We can't stay long, and he won't even know we're there, not with all the pain relievers they have him on."  Her fingers trembled as she completed the bow.

"Oh… sorry.  I didn't know…"

"It's not your fault.  Actually, I sort of hope it will all end for him soon.  I wish…. I wish you could have met him a few years ago, before we found out he was ill.  He was a very strong man, and a very proud one.  It… it hurts to see him reduced to this."  She forced a brave smile and pointed to another package on the bed.  Harry brought it down and helped her wrap it as well.  They continued in silence until the last of the presents were wrapped.  Together, they carried them by armloads down the stairs and placed them about the tree.  The scent of fresh breads and roast goose permeated the air, making both of them feel hungrier than they should, and both teens checked the clock on the wall.  

"You two had best change into your dinner clothes.  The others will be arriving soon."  Joseph Granger grinned and shooed the pair back up the stairs to dress.

~***~

The dress that her Madame St. Germaine had helped her to choose was far more grown up than anything she had ever worn before.  The simplicity of it made it grown up.  A sheath of crimson velvet fell from a pair of satin spaghetti straps, and a crimson satin ribbon graced it just underneath her average sized breast.  It ended with another trim of satin ribbon about one inch above her knees.  She had even bullied the girl into a pair of sheer stockings with a rhinestone bow at the left ankle and a pair of matching shoes that had a one inch heel to them.  There was an overjacket, but the fire and the crowd would make it too warm to wear.  She left it draped over the back of her desk chair as she pinned her hair back with a set of sparkling combs.  

Stepping back to look at her handiwork, she checked again that she didn't appear too thin.  No collarbones poking out in a disgusting fashion and her neck was slender without looking bony.  All in all, she felt she looked rather passable.  Actually, she felt prettier than she had during the Yule Ball in her fourth year.  For a brief moment she wished the other students at school could see her, even wished the teachers could see her.  She wondered, briefly, what Professor Snape would say about the appearance of the young lady before him.

_That dress is rather impractical, Miss Granger.  The skirt would restrict your movements and those shoes would seriously impair you in a duel._

She frowned at her reflection.  Yes, she feared that was _exactly what Professor Snape would say.  Hardly fair considering she wouldn't look this good if he weren't such a slave driver.  She owed those rather shapely legs and flat stomach to him; though she doubted that he would ever appreciate it.  __What are you **thinking Hermione?  He's your bloody teacher!  Of course he wouldn't appreciate you in that way.  Not that you'd ever want him to!  That last bit, however, felt false somehow.  **_

Did she want him to notice that she was growing up?  He was almost as old as her parents and he wasn't a nice person.  On the other hand, he was brilliant, and she did admire brilliant men.  Her eyes flicked to the large black and white poster of Albert Einstein on her wall.  It was the famous shot of him with his tongue sticking out and his hair pointing in a thousand different directions.  He had been brilliant as well, but she doubted that she would have ever felt anything romantic towards him.  Of course, he lacked some of the 'bad boy' image and dark mystery of her Potions Master.  Perhaps she only wanted to be noticed in _that way by an older man, as so many girls her age did.  _

Shaking her head, she decided not to dwell on the professor tonight.  This was a night for family and not for brooding on what could be a rather embarrassing crush in the makings.  She would deal with her feelings towards her teacher later.  Satisfied that she was ready, she left her room, shutting the door behind her.

A long, low whistler caught her attention.  She turned around to see Harry looking her over.  "Bloody Hell, Hermione.  Where have you been hiding those?"  His eyes fastened on her legs, the little bow glittering from its place at her ankle.  She blushed, pleased by the rather inelegant compliment.

"Under heavy school robes and a stack of books.  You don't look half bad yourself, Mr. Potter."  She grinned as Harry turned around to show off his new clothes.  Sure enough, he had a pair of charcoal grey slacks (crisply pressed), a pair of new leather dress shoes (highly polished), a button down shirt of scarlet cotton (also pressed and lightly starched) and a handsome tie of dark grey and red (expertly knotted, no doubt by her father).  He looked more than handsome and she made a mental note to be sure and take a picture for Ginny.  "The girls at Hogwarts would be green with envy."

"Well, it's only fitting that I look done up if I'm going to escort such a lovely lady to dinner."  She chuckled at his silliness, slipping her hand through his offered arm.  "Your guests have already started to arrive and I am sure they're anxious to see you."  

And they were, or at least a couple of them were anxious to torment her.  No sooner than her foot had left the last step to settle on the first floor, then someone had grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up.  "Mya-May-I!  You look ravishing!"  George lowered her to him and planted a noisy kiss on her cheek.  "Good to see you, Cousin."

"Ravishing indeed!  Are you sure this is our Mya-May-I?  Hand her here."  Hermione tried to protest, wishing to be back on her own feet, but was tossed, yes _tossed, from George to Fred.  Unlike their namesakes, her cousins were impossibly tall and built like a couple of brick walls.  Her new captor shifted her weight until she was held in his arms like a toddler who had fallen asleep in front of the telly.  "Blimey!  It __is her!  Who the hell gave you permission to grow up, Cousin?"_

Hermione crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the grinning face.  "Put.  Me.  Down."

Fred tilted his head to one side as though considering it, and then shook it.  "No, I don't think so."  Suddenly she was shifted again until he was holding her underneath one arm, resting her on his hip as he extended his now free hand towards Harry.  "You must be that friend of hers she keeps going on about.  Harry Potter, isn't it?  I'm Fred Granger; this is my partner in crime, George Granger.  Wonderful to meet you."

Harry looked shocked.  Not even he and Ron would consider manhandling her in such a fashion, would pummel anyone who tried.  Still, these two were family and they didn't seem to want to harm her.  He wasn't sure if he should laugh at his friend's disgruntled expression or dare to stand up to the boys, both of whom had a good two years on him and probably each weighed twice what he did.  "Good to meet you, too.  Uhm… don't you think you should put her down?"

"Who?"  Fred frowned, and then looked down.  "Oh!  Mya-May-I!  How long have you been down there?"  His face broke out into a devilish grin.

"Fred, I'm warning you.  Put me down or you'll wake up tomorrow with polka-dotted skin!"

"I'd be truly frightened by that, really I would, if I didn't know you can't do magic outside of school."  He looked back up at Harry.  "So, Harry, the little dictator here tells us you're some sort of sports star at school.  She's hopeless when it comes to sports, thinks they're a waste of time.  We tried to get her to explain Quidditch to us but she was absolutely hopeless."

"FRED GRANGER!  YOU PUT HER DOWN THIS INSTANT!"  Hermione sighed in relief as Aunt Tiffany came into the room.  Her voice was very easy to recognize, sharp and sweet all at once, and able to rattle windows if she needed it to do so.

"Oh, hello, Mum."  Fred passed Hermione back to George, who tucked her underneath his own arm.  "We were just introducing ourselves to Mya's friend here and I was holding onto her for George."

"He was, Aunt Tiff.  You see, I've decided to tell the lawmakers of this country what they could go do with themselves and marry Hermione.  I know it's likely to raise a few eyebrows, her being my cousin and all, but I'm not likely to find anyone better.  I mean, just look at her."  He shifted his weight so that Hermione could give a rather pleading look to her aunt.  Harry finally lost it and doubled over in laughter.

"George Granger…" Aunt Tiffany's voice took on a dangerous edge.  The older boy sighed and gently set Hermione back onto her feet.  

"The grown ups are getting harder and harder to charm, Fred."

"Some harder than most, George." 

Hermione was smoothing out the crushed velvet of her gown, muttering something about potions not being detectable by the Ministry.  She straightened up, smoothed her hair and turned to her guest.  "Harry Potter, my family."  She spread her hands wide to encompass not only the three Grangers in the room, but the others just visible through the doorway leading into the den.

Dinner was everything the Grangers were used to.  Cold slices of ham and succulent roast goose.  Vegetable dishes and creamy sauces.  Everyone had brought their specialty, though Hermione confided in Harry that she was hopeless in the kitchen herself.  Harry found this hard to believe, considering he had seen her in Potions, and that had to be far more difficult than cooking.   He helped himself to a freshly baked roll smeared with sweet butter, answering Fred and George's questions between bites.

Hermione ignored her cousins, still miffed at their earlier antics.  She heard them tell Harry why they called her "Mya-May-I".  _She was always so bossy, we always felt as though we needed to ask her permission before doing anything.  Is she like that at school, too?  They grilled him about Quidditch and complained about how she hadn't gotten the Weasley's to secure them tickets to the World Cup as well.  __She said something about not wanting us to meet our counterparts, whatever that meant.  They asked him about school and what sort of classes they took.  __Hermione loves them all, except for something called Divination.  Of course, she's such a brain herself, it's hard to get an unbiased opinion about academics from her.  By the end of dinner, she was actually grateful they had found Harry so interesting.  It kept them from pestering her._

After dinner, the children, Harry and Hermione included, cleaned up the table and dishes.  Once that was accomplished, the family gathered about the tree to exchange presents.  Harry had gotten Hermione to help him pick something out for her parents, so they got books on medicine in the wizarding world.  He had bought Hermione an ornately carved box that contained six crystal phials for potions and she had given him a leather storage case for his wand, embossed with his initials.  Afterwards, however, she knew her friend felt guilty that he only bought presents for her and her parents.  Every unit of the Granger family had bought him something.  Apparently, once they had determined his size, her parents had told them all.  Hermione supposed she had mentioned the fact that, when he returned from the summer holiday each year, Harry had only his obese cousin Dudley's cast offs to wear, twice his own slender size and hardly able to stay up.  For Christmas, the Grangers seemed intent on clothing him in proper garments that fit him as they should.  He received trousers, socks, shoes and thick, warm sweaters.  There were tee shirts for warmer weather, as well.  He was awestruck and humbled.  She could have showered each and every one of them with kisses.  

Perhaps sensing that they had made the boy a trifle uncomfortable in their efforts to help make up for sixteen years of torment and neglect, her mother had asked that she and Harry take a basket of food to Widow Holmes down the street.  A sweet lady, she was blind and not in the best of health.  She had outlived both of her own children and couldn't leave the house very easily, so every year they made sure that she at least had a holiday dinner.  Wrapped up in their winter coats (Harry had gotten a new one of those as well) and armed with a basket of delicious food, they set out in the cold, night air.

"Your family is amazing!  Absolutely wonderful!  Do you think your dad will show me that chemistry set he has in the basement?"

"He'd love to.  He's rather fond of sharing his hobbies.  If had didn't enjoy his work so much, he'd be a teacher."  In truth, she felt better than she had in a long time.  There was a simple joy to be found in watching her friend celebrate the chance to have a proper Christmas.  He needed to get used to them, because if he did eventually manage to marry Ginny, he was going to have many more in the future.  

"And those cousins of yours."  He laughed into the night sky.  "It's like spending Christmas with the Weasleys, only you don't have to worry that the pudding will explode in your face."

"That's because I have enough sense not to let them have any Filibuster Fireworks."

Harry stopped suddenly.  "Uhm… ooops."

She stopped and looked at him, jaw open.  "You didn't give them any, did you?"

He looked very serious, and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.  Then, he grinned.  "Just kidding.  I don't have any to give."

She rolled her eyes and hit his shoulder lightly.  "Idiot."  He seemed unashamed as he shifted the heavy weight of the basket, walking along beside her as she resumed their journey.  

Widow Holmes was nearly blind from old age and was happy to have any company whatsoever.  Though one might expect it, she didn't have an army of cats.  Her only pet was a parrot in one corner that could curse like a sailor and knew a couple of dirty limericks.  Harry managed to keep from laughing too hard every time it started up, instead focusing on yet more stories about Hermione as a child.

"Girl used to end up in the oddest places.  Why, one morning we found her sitting atop the church with no way to get down.  She kept insisting that she just woke up there.  Her parents were so afraid she was going to hurt herself, sleepwalking like that.  They were strapping her into bed for a time."  Hermione blushed scarlet at the reminder, but knew that Harry would recognize it for the budding proof of magic it had been.  

They stayed until the chiming of the clock told them it was half past ten.  They had been there for over two hours and it was past Widow Holmes' usual bed time.  Storing the food away in her kitchen where she could find it in the morning, they bid her good night and hurried out, both grateful they had possessed the forethought to change out of the dinner clothes and shoes prior to coming here.  It would make the trip easier.  

They hurried down the street, their breath making white clouds in the air.  "I hope your mum and dad won't be too worried."

"Of course not, they know how hard it is to get away from her once she's started.  Besides, she's so lonely."  The magic of the season was in the air about them, keeping them from feeling fear or worry.  The only things missing were Ron and Ginny to make their little group complete.  

They rounded one of the two corners they needed to turn on the way to her house.  The first odd thing she noted as that the street lights were only on for the first half of the street, the others seeming to have burnt out.  Was there a power failure? She hoped her father had remembered to plug in the flashlight so that the batteries could charge.  Still hurrying, her eyes adjusted to the lack of light and something caught her attention above the roofline.  Looking up she noted that there was a sickly green glow that seemed to be coming from her street.  Something about that glow tugged at a memory in her head, her feet starting to move more quickly of their own accord.  

As they grew closer to the corner, she would occasionally look up.  Now the top of whatever it was could be seen, a half dozen brilliant green stars.  From off to her side she heard Harry whisper, "Oh…. No…" and they both broke into a run.  They reached the corner and the glow could be seen completely.  Hermione gave a stifled cry and pressed on harder, only to be tackled from behind and knocked to the ground.  Harry's hands clamped around her mouth as he kept her pinned to the side lawn of one of the neighbors' house.  "No!" he whispered furiously, "Stay down!  You can't help them now!"

The neighbors had all left their houses and were crowded around her burning home, a few trying to get close enough to try and help.  From a distance sirens could be heard as the emergency vehicles made their way.  Soon enough the Ministry wizards would arrive and begin the task of modifying memories and getting rid of that… that thing.

The Dark Mark continued to quietly hover over what had been, for the entirety of her life, Hermione Granger's home.


	4. Chapter Four

_Dear Reader,_

_Well, that last bit's being accepted a bit more than I had hoped.  Sorry that you didn't like the ending.  I felt the chapter was quite long enough and wanted to continue later.  I am pleased, however, that the ones who have responded so far seem to have liked Hermione's family.  I will admit that was the idea.  If that makes me an evil sadist, oh well. _

_Again, I own nothing except the plot.  The rest all belongs to J.K. Rowling.  While I'm on the subject, please refrain from hating the woman simply because the release for Order of the Phoenix__ has been pushed back again.  Honestly, the new one is reported to be as large as the last, and that's no easy task.  Also, there was that law suit she had to fight and she's newly married less than one year with a baby on the way.  Cut the poor dear some slack._

_Save some thanks for Aly.  She's been invaluable in helping me with these chapters.  She catches things I miss because I'm too close to the story itself to see them.  I think she's doing a lovely job._

_Love,_

_ChelleyBean_

~***~

What had followed had all been a blur.  She remembered Harry holding her down until she stopped struggling and ceased screaming against his hand.  Then she thought she remembered him pulling her to her feet, still gripping her by one arm and pulling her into the shadows.  He produced his wand from an inside pocket of his jacket, and she had started to giggle.  Part of her was certain that she worried him with that, but couldn't he see the irony of it?  Her, the brilliant and talented Hermione Granger, ready for anything, hadn't taken her wand with her when she left the house.  Why should she have?  She was in her neighborhood and close to the bosom of her family.  What could possibly touch her here?  No doubt having someone like Voldemort after you had made Harry paranoid enough that he was never without his wand.  

He had pulled her behind him to the other street and waved his wand in the air.  She knew he had spoken to her, but he sounded muffled and far away.  There was a buzzing inside her head like white snow on the telly after the station had signed off.  There was a sound like a bang seemed to come from three streets away, but then a large purple bus came to a stop before them.  She had stared, unblinking, as the conductor came down and Harry spoke to him urgently, motioning to the other street.  The man's face had paled, looking at the greenish glow shining from over the rooftops, then to her, then to Harry.  He nodded his head and motioned for them to board.  

Had she not been so detached at the moment, she might have wondered at the sight of beds rather than benches.  She didn't feel it as she was pushed down onto one of the beds.  She didn't feel anything.  She had gone completely numb.  Harry was talking to the conductor again, their voices a distant hum, unable to be heard over the voices playing inside her mind.  Fred's troublesome teasing; Alice's squeal of delight when she had unwrapped the locket her parents had bought her, Aunt Helen's gasp as she opened the crystal vial of perfume Hermione had created for her at school.  Her mind was so busy replaying the day's events she could even smell the fabulous dinner and hear Fred and George quizzing Harry about Quidditch and its rules.  She could see her mother as she ran her fingers over Harry's head and taste the creamy chocolate of Aunt Helen's excellent pie.  

Something or someone was bullying her into a sitting position and there was a pressure of something pressed against her lips.  She sipped obediently, and then almost became sick as the too sweet taste of hot chocolate interred her mouth.  The scent of it made her throat clamp down and she turned her head away.  She thought she heard Harry ask someone "Now what?" but it could have been her mind playing tricks on her.  They let her lay back down and she was distantly aware of Harry speaking to her and holding her hand.  She imagined herself as being trapped inside a glass box, hammering to get out but not wanting to, because inside her box her home still stood and her family still laughed.  Inside her box she wasn't alone.

She thought the bus came to a stop, and it must have, because now she was being bullied back up off the bed and led towards the door.  They were somewhere she'd never seen before, a neighborhood somewhere in England.  Harry pulled her up the walk to the door of a house and began to bang upon the door furiously.  He was yelling for the people inside to get up.  The lights inside began to come on and shadows could be seen moving in the side panels flanking the doors.  The door was yanked open by a heavy set man with no neck and a large mustache.  His face was purple with annoyance as he glared at them.  She barely heard him starting to yell at Harry only to shut up as the boy pushed him aside and pulled her into the house after him.  Somewhere inside her head she finally put a name with the man's face, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle.  He had brought her to Number Four Privet Drive.  

Leading her into the house, Harry steered her into a den and pushed her down onto a sofa.  The voices about her were angry but muted as he bickered with his uncle.  Hermione watched with glassy eyes as her friend stood his ground against a man several times larger than himself.  A scrawny, bony woman came in, knotting her bathrobe and her hair in curlers.  She looked from the two men arguing to Hermione, obviously unsure of what to make of it all. There was a large form poking around the corner behind her, a grossly overweight boy with a cruel face.  That must be Dudley.  She had never seen him before, or Harry's aunt Petunia.  She had only seen Vernon Durlsey when he met the train to pick up Harry at the end of term, and that was all she had ever wanted to see of him.

The argument must have been getting more and more heated, because Harry's face was darkening in anger as well.  Vernon raised a meaty fist above his head, but it was Harry pulling out his wand and leveling it at the man that made someone inside her snap.  "Harry."  Her voice was rusty as though from disuse, and it didn't sound like more than a whisper, but both men froze and looked towards her.  "No, Harry."

It seemed to have worked, because both of them lowered their arms.  For a little while, voices seemed clearer as Harry turned to his uncle.  "She just lost her family. Her _entire family.  They were murdered tonight, and the only thing they ever did was to shower her with love and encourage her to excel in everything she ever did.  They were good, decent people, __ordinary people like you and Aunt Petunia, and now they're gone!  Now, if you cannot be of any help, then kindly GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"_

Vernon backed down, uncertain of what to say.  He made a few false starts, then turned away to stalk back up the stairs to the upper floor.  Dudley continued to hover around the door as Petunia dared to come further into the room.  "She can stay in the guest room until you can send word to your school and let them know where they can fetch you."  Harry seemed to protest this, not wanting to let Hermione out of his sight, but the woman moved across the room to urge the girl onto her feet and steer her up the stairs and into a neat little guest room with a full sized bed.  "Out, both of you.  I doubt she'd like you two in here when she's changing clothes.  Dudley, go down to the laundry room, there's a basket of clean clothes there.  Bring up one of the night gowns."  

Petunia Dursley was sharp and efficient in her movements.  There was no gentleness or sympathy as she helped Hermione out of her clothes and into a gown that was too long for her, and then urged her under the covers.  She put a box of tissues on the bedside table and advised her to cry as much as she needed, but please keep the noise down while the rest of the house slept.  Hermione didn't respond, only rolled over to her side, pulling her legs up close into her body as she stared blankly at the wall.

Leaving her alone was not the best thing they could have done for her.  She could not seem to force herself to close her eyes and sleep.  There was still that numb, detached feeling about her, as though she wasn't real.  She felt like another person watching a twisted dream from the outside, but no matter how she longed for it to be true she wasn't another person.  This was her reality, cold, empty and horrid.  Some part of her knew that she had to cry, that she needed to cry.  Tears were cleansing, they helped you put yourself back together, but her eyes were dry and empty.  Her whole body felt dry and empty.  Somehow she had gone from a happy, shining girl to someone who was beyond pain because there was no possible way for the human spirit to measure that much sorrow.  

The only way she knew time had passed was by the room growing lighter as it neared dawn.  The sunlight coming through the window was cold and pale, falling upon the light blue of the coverlet.  She was somewhat aware of the door to the guest room opening and someone coming in.  "Hermione?"  It was Harry, his voice soft and uncertain.  She heard him pad over and sit down on the bed beside her, her back to him.  Something reached out and smoothed her hair.  "Aunt Petunia's making breakfast.  She said you don't have to come down if you don't feel up to it, but I doubt she'll bring you anything up here."  Food?  She wasn't hungry.  She wasn't anything.  She supposed she should answer him but she couldn't get her lips and tongue to work.  "Hedwig came this morning, with a note.  It was from Snape.  He didn't sign it, but I know his handwriting well enough.  All he asked was 'Where are you?'  I sent her back with a reply.  I suppose he got her out of the owlery, knowing she'd be able to find me."

He smoothed the coverlet over her.  "It's all right if you don't want to talk right now.  I understand.  Besides, someone will be here for us soon.  I'm sure of it."  She still didn't respond, even when he leaned over her and hugged her awkwardly through the thick blankets, placing a soft kiss at her temple.  "They'll get theirs, Hermione, I promise you.  I won't let them get away with this."  He left her then, shutting the door behind him.  Brave, noble Harry, always willing to take on the great evils of the world.  How she wished she could knock some sense into him sometimes.

More time passed, and yet she lay unmoving.  Her body was stiff from its many hours of being held in this half-fetal position, but she had neither the desire nor the strength to shift around.  Instead she lay there, still unmoving.  From the way the shadows shifted about her she guessed it was some time after noon when the door opened again, but no one came into the room this time.  "She's been like that since last night, Professor.  I don't think she even slept."  Harry again, and not alone.  Perhaps the headmaster or Professor McGonagall had come for them.  They didn't enter the room, though, just closed the door and left her alone again.

She wasn't alone forever.  The door opened again later, but this time someone did come into the room.  She felt the bed shift underneath the person's weight as he/she kneeled beside her.  A strong hand slipped underneath her shoulder, up underneath her neck and cradled her skull before it began to urge her to turn over.  "This way, Miss Granger."  It was the soft, silky voice of the Potions Master.  Her body moved for the first time since she had been placed beneath the covers, obeying him without question.  Her brown eyes looked up into his steely black ones as he elevated her before placing a vial to her lips.  "Drink this, it will help you."  He tipped the vial forward and something bitter and foul hit her mouth.  She started to turn away but his voice was demanding.  "All of it."

"What is it, Professor?"  Harry stood in the doorway, watching.

"Dreamless Sleep.  She cannot sleep because her subconscious is aware of the nightmares that await her.  This will allow her to rest somewhat from her ordeal and grant her the strength she needs to face what happened when she wakes."  He persisted with the potion until she had downed it all.  It moved quickly through her system, already tugging at her eyes.  "There will be plenty of time for nightmares later."  His voice faded off at the end as she was enveloped in blackness.

~***~

Being under the influence of a dreamless sleep potion was much like she felt when she was awake.  Her mind was a black, empty nothingness.  Not the best type of sleep, but the professor was right about feeling somewhat stronger when she woke up.  She didn't feel all together there, but she did feel stronger.  She lay against the pillows for a long moment before forcing herself to rise.  Sitting up, she looked around herself at the room.  It was pretty and perhaps a bit too feminine for her tastes.  A painting of brightly colored flours hung on a wall and the comforter resting atop her was light blue with little flowers all over it.  She wrinkled her nose at that.  She had never liked sugary, girlish things.  They had always seemed ridiculous to her.

Her clothes had been cleaned and were waiting for her on a chair by the door.  She got up and walked over to them, noting that someone had put several travel sized items atop them.  There was shampoo and conditioner for her hair, a tiny tube of toothpaste and a collapsible toothbrush for her teeth, a wrapped bar of soap, two towels and a washcloth.  There was also an inexpensive comb and brush set.  Looking about her she spotted another door beside the dresser and went to investigate it.  Sure enough there was a small guest bath attached to the room.  Gathering up her clothes and hygiene items, she decided to at least start her day out right.  

She kept turning down the cold tap and turning up the hot in an attempt to feel something, but her skin still had that strange lack of sensation.  Finally, judging by the steam that it had to be close to right, she climbed into the shower and began to scrub.  She used all the contents of the tiny bottle of shampoo, washing her hair at least three times, and then emptied the contents of the conditioner.  She lost count of how many times she soaped herself down before finally giving up.  Rinsing off, she used one towel to wrap up her hair and another to dry off her body, unable to feel the nap of either.  She brushed her teeth until blood mixed with the foam when she spit it out, then used the tiny bottle of mouthwash included in the little kit until it, too, was empty.  Guessing she was clean enough, she dressed, worked the snarls out of her hair, and then left the bathroom for the main part of the guest quarters.

The bed was still rumpled.  She had forgotten to make it up.  With all the fire of an automaton, she began to smooth the sheets and blankets back into place, banishing wrinkles from the surface.  She watched her fingers as she tugged and straightened the fabric, just as she had done with the heavy, pristine white table cloth she had draped over the dining table.  

And the dam broke.

Her hand stopped, fingers starting to twitch.  Her lungs began to burn from lack of air since she had stopped breath, and her body started again in raw, ragged gulps.  Her knees started to tremble as if turning into jelly and tears began to pour from her eyes.  A sound reached her ears, low and mournful, then beginning to grow in volume.  It was full of pain and sorrow, but it sounded utterly inhuman.  It wrapped around her as her knees became unable to support her weight any longer and she fell to the floor, her face burying into the thick coverlet.  As the sound became muffled she realized it had been coming from her.

Foot steps came towards her and the door to the room slammed open.  Someone approached her and reached for her, digging fingers into her shoulders.  "Potter!  Get out!"

"What's wrong with her?!"

"Get Out!"  Through her wails she could tell it was Professor Snape.  The door slammed shut as he lifted her up, hooking one arm beneath her legs and scooping her up into his arms so he could sit down.  He held her in his lap, arms wrapped about her.  He didn't rock her or murmur soft words, just held her as she screamed between her sobs.  She cried until her throat was raw and sore, and then reduced to hiccoughs and sniffles.  Still, there was a terrible pressure deep inside her chest, like someone was constricting her heart.  He seemed to realize it as well.  "Still more, I think, Hermione.  You have to let everything out."

Everything?  Did he know what else was there, inside her?  There was sorrow and grief, of course, but did he know about the pain?  Did he know about the rage and the hatred?  How could even begin to fathom?  How could he?  He hadn't just had his entire family obliterated.  A houseful of loving, wonderful people gone in one night, all because someone had some stupid prejudice against a witch being born to Muggle parents.  Did he really want her to let everything go?  

She pounded once on his shoulder with a balled up fist in a weak attempt to show him some measure of the agony she was in.  Then she gave another blow, then another.  Soon she wasn't just hitting, she was scratching, pulling, tearing, anything to try and inflict some little bit of pain upon him.  She wanted someone else to feel as she felt, she wanted someone else to suffer.  She no longer cared if this was her teacher, someone she should fear and respect.  He was the one foolish enough to remain here with her.  She continued to attack him, but he was far better skilled at fighting than she was.  He easily deflected the most damaging blows, letting only those that would cause little damage connect.  Finally he caught both her wrists in his hands, leaving her to resort to teeth.  She struck hard and sunk her jaws into the cloth at his shoulder.  She heard him bite off a curse, but he didn't try to break free.  

Then she began to wail again, a high pitched, keening sound.  His robes muffled it as her teeth bit down into him.  But the pressure, the horrible pressure about her heart was lessening.  She still hurt inside, but it was at last becoming bearable.  She felt that she might be able to function again, at least.  Eventually, she let go of his shoulder and turned her head, her cheek resting on the wet spot her mouth had made.  Her breathing was still ragged, but it was steadier.  Her tears still fell, but they were mostly quiet tears.  Now that she was no longer trying to break free, he let go of her wrists and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.  Sometime during their struggles she had ended up straddling his thighs, her calves tucked underneath.  It allowed him to pull her in closely enough that she was no longer sure where he ended and she began.

Long, elegant fingers curled in her hair.  "That's better.  That's much better."  He sounded pleased, but she wasn't sure by what.  His breath was warm on the outer edge of her ear as he spoke to her.  "You will survive this.  They cannot touch you."  His voice didn't only sound pleased, it sounded smug.  It sent a strange shiver down her spine.  Deep in her mind was a tiny voice warning her that the Potions Master was devising some possibly fiendish plot with her in the center of it.  Still, at this moment, she felt as though he was the only one who understood her and truly had no desire to move away.  

He turned his head and placed a brief, dry kiss at her temple just beside her eye.  "They tried to break you, but you will show them all.  My brave, beautiful girl, you will show them."  Fiendish plots aside, he made her feel safe and secure, made her feel like something precious and loved.  His voice was soft and entrancing, wrapping around her as she let her eyes begin to close, weary from her grieving.  She was slipping into a normal sleep when his voice whispered again.  

"You will be the death of them all."


End file.
